


Serpent and Sparrow

by ZoeWarren



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F, Plot? What Plot?, angst isn't the right word, okay now it's angst, or possibly melodrama, this is what happens when I catch a chest cold in the summertime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-07-28 20:07:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7654897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoeWarren/pseuds/ZoeWarren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>UPDATE: Chapter 6 added August 27th</p><p>Rachel was cast in iron, rigid and brittle. Helena was rubber, elastic and resilient. Alison was built in straight lines, and Sarah was all sharp angles. (And if Sarah hadn't been swathed in Cosima's coat that night at Dyad, if Delphine hadn't had most of her attention fixed on Aldous, she wouldn't have bought the substitution for a second.) Because Cosima was made of curves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Apart from the prologue, this story takes place in and around scenes from season 4 episode 10. If you haven't seen it yet, then a) this won't make a huge amount of sense, and b) HUGE spoilers. Just saying.

 

Delphine had never really believed Ferdinand would be fooled by the swap - Sarah for Rachel, Alison for Sarah. She had choked down hammering fear all the way through the ruse, convinced he would see right through it. How could he not? He had loved one of them. He should know.

They wore the same face, but.

Rachel was cast in iron, rigid and brittle. Helena was rubber, elastic and resilient. Alison was built in straight lines, and Sarah was all sharp angles. (And if Sarah hadn't been swathed in Cosima's coat that night at Dyad, if Delphine hadn't had most of her attention fixed on Aldous, she wouldn't have bought the substitution for a second.) Because Cosima was made of curves. Sinuous. Sensuous.

When she was a little girl, Delphine had loved leafing through her father's old books. He had one, thick with a ratty leather cover, that she asked for over and over again. An illustrated collection of mythology from the ancient world. There was one image in rich earth tones, of a mother goddess from ancient Colchis who took the form of a serpent. Not cold, not calculating, but bounteous, the force of life, huge and powerful, cradled deep within the earth.

Delphine hadn't thought of that book, that illustration, in years, but from the moment Cosima kissed her, Delphine found herself haunted by the image of that goddess. Of all the sisters, Cosima was most of the earth, had her fingers sunk deep into the force of life, determined to unpick its mysteries. And Delphine sometimes believed she could feel the echo of that great serpent stir within Cosima in the twitch of belly, the arch of spine, as Delphine's fingers, her tongue, traced the length of Cosima's curves.

Cosima would laugh if she knew. Her words taunted Delphine. _You don't believe stuff like that._ And she didn't, really. But one day, when she finally let Cosima talk her into a tattoo, she knew what symbol she would choose.


	2. Sparrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delphine had lived for the better part of a year now with the perpetual flutter of panic in her chest, a sparrow beating its wings against her ribs, lodged there by three small words. *I'm sick, Delphine.*

 

 

Still reeling from the shock of Cosima's sudden appearance in the Neolutionist camp, Delphine had to clench her teeth against the visceral hiss that swelled in her throat when she cut Cosima's sodden blouse away. This body she had worshipped lay exposed on the cot, stripped of its curves, sunken, emaciated. Cosima's hip bones protruded, sharp and angular, her skin dipped hollow between her ribs. Delphine pulled the blanket up to Cosima's chin as much to mask the sight as to keep Cosima warm.

But even that wasn't the worst part. Worst was the fog of confusion in Cosima's eyes. The sinking understanding that Cosima looked at Delphine but didn't see her. Awful enough to see that sharp mind hazy and blunted by illness, by exhaustion and hypothermia, but to know that her own face had become some herald of death to Cosima was unbearable.

Delphine had lived for the better part of a year now with the perpetual flutter of panic in her chest, a sparrow beating its wings against her ribs, lodged there by three small words. _I'm sick, Delphine_. A world without Cosima was incomprehensible to her, even then. Desolating. She had loathed every minute of Jennifer's recordings – Delphine's nightmares were bad enough without the visual aids – even as she understood Cosima's need to watch them. Only Cosima's touch ever granted Delphine respite from her fear; the sparrow calmed under that primal proof of Cosima's presence, but it never stilled entirely.

These last months – without Cosima, not knowing – and then the sight of her, diminished and fragile... Even pressed against Cosima on the cot, Delphine couldn't seem to hold her close enough, couldn't find the way to pass her _life_ from skin to skin as well as warmth.

 

** **

 

Delphine sat beside the cot, her fingers knotted with Cosima's, panic grown from a flutter to a deafening thunder of wings, and counted the minutes until it was safe to slip across the camp to the lab. The Neolutionists couldn't provide indoor plumbing or adequate heat, but a lab capable of producing a vector for gene therapy? Just a few metres away. Although it might as well be back in Toronto for all the use it would be to her if anyone caught her going in. So she waited, and she listened, through all the long rituals of the camp settling itself for the night. And she panicked, because the one thing Cosima didn't have was time.

Cosima didn't wake again even as the hours ticked past, and Delphine tried to convince herself it was a good sign, her body getting the rest it needed. The fingers tangled with her own were warm enough, given the miserable temperature in the yurt. Cosima's core temperature was up, no signs of frostbite on her ears or her toes. But her breath still rattled in her chest, shallow and wet. With her lungs already so compromised, even a cold could kill her. Pneumonia would be a death sentence, cure or no cure.

Because that cure was a miracle, but it wasn't magic. Cosima's body would need time to heal even after the gene therapy was administered. Delphine just had to keep her alive long enough for that to happen. And the longer she sat here doing nothing, the slimmer Cosima's odds grew.

_If you let her die without me..._

Delphine had believed once that if death was all there was, she would share even that with Cosima. It had been vitally important to her that she be with her, that Cosima not die alone. But now, the thought of getting Cosima back after all this time, after the torture of fear and uncertainty and loneliness and longing – getting her back _with her cure in her hands,_ no less – just to watch her slip away forever...

Delphine buried her face in their joined hands as the wave of fear shuddered through her. And, gasping, she offered up a prayer stripped of words to that ancient serpent goddess.

Outside, a cold west wind began to blow.


	3. Chapter 3

 

Finally, finally, the camp stilled, settled. Time to move. But letting go of Cosima's hands was... Delphine had to pause, blow out a slow, trembling breath before she could force her fingers to unwind, to release.

She slipped the vial she'd drawn of Cosima's blood into one pocket, one of Cosima's specimen jars into another. She doused the last lights in the yurt, grabbed a flashlight from the hook by the door, and slipped out into the night.

The wind was achingly cold, the stars hard and sharp above. The camp dwindled to shadows and silhouettes in the darkness, and only the embers of the fire, already losing their battle against the plunging temperature, threw any light at all. Fear whispered at Delphine to hurry even as it locked her limbs to a paralysing slowness. She placed each foot as carefully as she could, cringing as the snow crunched and squeaked beneath her boots. _Act natural. Don't make a sound. Just looking for supplies..._ Delphine was shuddering inside her coat by the time her numb fingers gripped the door.

The lab was a long shack on the far side of the camp, only slightly more permanent than the yurt. She left the lights off as she edged inside and only risked flicking her flashlight on once the door had closed behind her.

Needing both hands free, she wedged the flashlight between shoulder and chin and set about gathering the equipment she needed. Fought to balance the conflicting needs of _hurry, be precise, be careful, be quiet, but hurry_...

** **

When Delphine finally held the filled syringe in her hands, they trembled so badly she nearly dropped it. She held herself still and breathed through the urge to run, back across the camp, heedless of the noise, because all that mattered was getting the cure into Cosima. Only a few metres stood between them now.

But she didn't dare. There was no point in saving Cosima's life only to put it at risk all over again, so Delphine took the time to sterilize everything, every surface, every tool. Not a shred of DNA from Cosima's sample could be left anywhere the Neolutionists might find it.

With every minute that passed her inner clock sang out that she had already taken too long, that she had missed her window for slipping out unseen. And, indeed, when she pressed her ear to the crack in the door, finally ready to leave, she could hear the crunch of boots on frozen snow outside, the rattle of wood on wood as someone built up the fire.

Delphine swallowed past her thudding heart. No choice now. She tucked the syringe into the inner pocket of her coat and zipped it shut, then turned and fumbled through the shelves by the door, searching, grabbed a fistful of surgical masks and stuffed them into her pocket. One quick breath to compose herself, and she stepped outside as though nothing was wrong.

The morning was still dark - this deep into winter, this far north, the sun wouldn't be up for hours yet – although the newly-kindled camp fire lit the clearing between the tents. Delphine edged towards the perimeter of the camp, sticking close to the trees and hoping to slip past unnoticed.

"Oh good, someone's up."

Delphine smothered her flinch, turned to find Mandy, the camp's primary cook and general caretaker, crossing towards her. "I'm sorry?" Usually the bulk of the camp didn't want anything to do with Delphine.

Mandy frowned. "I need someone to haul water in so I can get breakfast on, but the Messenger sent Dieter up to the ridge to radio the chopper in." She held two large plastic jugs and a hatchet out to Delphine.

The chopper. _You won't be allowed to stay with her._ Delphine's chest clenched tight around the sparrow, but she knew better than to let her anguish show. She offered Mandy a small smile. "Of course. I would be happy to help, but just let me check in on-"

Mandy cut Delphine off with a dismissive wave. "Let her sleep. Bloody doctors, can't leave well enough alone. She'll get better or she won't. Stop hovering." Mandy dropped her armload at Delphine's feet and stalked away.

Delphine smothered the temptation to hurl the hatchet after her.

Swinging between anger and relief, she picked up the jugs and the hatchet and started in the direction of the stream, but as soon as Mandy disappeared inside the kitchen tent, Delphine doubled back and ducked into the yurt. She dropped the jugs by the door, left the hatchet on the counter when she picked up the IV prep tray, and fumbled her inside pocket open as she dropped to her knees beside the cot.

"Cosima." Delphine brushed gentle fingers down Cosima's cheek. "Cosima?"

Cosima shifted, hummed a low mumble that caught on the edge of a cough, but didn't wake up. Delphine frowned, worry clawing at her chest, but she didn't have the time to coax Cosima to consciousness. She folded the blanket back off Cosima's left arm, swabbed her skin with an alcohol wipe, but then hesitated. Cosima deserved to be awake for this moment. Delphine shook her gently by the shoulder. And then again. Cosima moaned, but her eyes never opened.

Heart pounding, sparrow wings fluttering, and suddenly terrified that even seconds might count, Delphine uncapped the syringe, eased the needle in as gently as she could, and injected the contents.

The cure.

She reached up and pressed a kiss against Cosima's temple. "Mon pauvre petit chou," she murmured against too-warm skin – like old times, as requested – and had to swallow hard against the press of tears in her throat. "Don't you go anywhere. I'll be right back."

Before she could change her mind, she recapped the syringe and wrenched herself away from the cot. She grabbed the hatchet and the jugs and ducked back out into the cold.

** **

Delphine chopped through the ice and filled both water jugs as quickly as she could, but before she turned back to the camp, she fished the empty syringe from her pocket. She pulled the syringe apart and rinsed the pieces as thoroughly as she could, then, bracing herself with a deep breath, plunged her hand into the frigid water and tossed both pieces into the current under the ice.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies to any actual doctors or geneticists out there. Everything I know about gene therapy I learned from five minutes of googling.


	4. Chapter 4

"Finally," Mandy said as Delphine stepped off the path back into camp.

Delphine held her expression neutral, placed the water jugs by the fire, and turned to cross back to the yurt.

"Where do you think you're off to? Go grab the bowls and spoons from the kitchen tent, please."

Delphine clenched her teeth on a growl. She could protest, just turn and walk back to the yurt. More than likely they would be shipping her out on the chopper today anyway. But Cosima would be left to the Neolutionists' mercy, ill and defenseless. Delphine didn't dare antagonise them now.

"Of course," she said. "Anything to help."

** **

Mandy kept Delphine running all through breakfast and the clean-up afterwards, until Dieter finally returned to camp with the radio under his arm.

"Chopper'll be here this afternoon," he said. "Weather permitting." Delphine glanced up at the sky. The thin dawn light revealed clouds in the west but no signs of storm.

Mandy offered Dieter a spot by the campfire to warm up and a bowl of oatmeal she'd held back for him. Delphine seized her opportunity and scooped up the second bowl and spoon that she herself had put aside. "If you have all the help you need now, I'm going to bring some breakfast to my patient."

Mandy frowned, but released Delphine with a grudging jerk of her chin.

Delphine slipped inside the yurt and crossed to drop down beside the cot, setting the bowl of oatmeal to one side. Cosima was shivering again under the blankets and when Delphine pressed a hand to her forehead, her worst fears were confirmed. Fever.

Rage bubbled up inside Delphine's chest – at Mandy, at the Messenger, but mostly at herself. She should have come right back after the river. How many times did she have to make the same mistake before she learned?

She lifted the covers and probed the injection site on Cosima's left arm. No redness, no swelling. So likely not a reaction to the therapy. Was it a cold then? The flu? She retrieved the stethoscope and cringed at what she heard in Cosima's chest, but she had no recent baseline to compare it to, no way to tell if it was the progression of her disease or new congestion due to a virus.

She jotted down Cosima's vitals before the restless sparrow drove her to her feet again. She peeled off her coat and laid it over Cosima, then crossed to load more wood onto the fire in the yurt's small stove. She changed the IV bag, checked the levels on the oxygen tank, assembled a tray of aspirin and rubbing alcohol in case Cosima's fever spiked too high.

Then finally, almost as an afterthought, fished in her coat pocket to retrieve the surgical masks and tied one on. Her lips twisted in recognition of the futility of the gesture at this point – they had an expression for it in English, something about a horse and a door, but she couldn't remember the phrasing. She curled up again beside the cot, knees underneath it, elbows resting on the frame, and pulled Cosima's hand out from under the covers to twine their fingers together once again.

** **

Delphine released Cosima's hand and scrambled to her feet at the sound of a knock on the yurt's wooden door. The Messenger didn't even wait for her to answer before he pulled it open. She crossed her arms against the icy draught and pinned him with an unimpressed eyebrow. "Yes?"

"He wants to know what you were doing alone in the lab this morning."

Delphine took a quiet breath, reminding herself, _he's asking because he doesn't **know**_. Wordlessly, she plucked a surgical mask from the pile and crossed to hold it out towards the Messenger. He considered it, dangling from the ends of her fingers, for a long moment.

"I should have thought of it sooner," she said, trying to pitch her voice for annoyance instead of heart-pounding fear. "Put this on, please, if you intend to come in, but either way, please shut the door."

He looked like he didn't quite believe her, but he stepped inside and pulled the door closed. Took the mask from her fingers and tied it on without protest. "She is ill?"

"She has a fever. I'm... concerned."

He nodded, watching Cosima struggle to breathe for a long moment. When he met Delphine's eyes again, she jumped in before he could speak. "The helicopter. It's for me, isn't it."

His eyes looked weary above the mask. "Yes. He has a task for you on the mainland."

"I won't leave her. Not while she's ill."

"You know better than that."

"Yes, but I don't care."

He raised an eyebrow. "Well, we'll see, I suppose. Do what you can. You have a few hours, yet."

He pushed the door open and ducked out. Delphine leaned through after him to grab the door, to pull it shut, but hesitated for a moment, gazing up at the sky. The watery winter light had grown flatter under the clouds pushing in from the west. The wind had picked up a little, hissing through the bare branches above her with a sound like ocean waves. And she thought, just for a moment, she caught the smell of snow.

_Please_ , she prayed. _Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease_...

** **

Cosima coughed herself awake late in the morning. Her breath had been rough and gurgling for some time before that, catching on the ragged edges of a cough but never quite blooming into one. Delphine alternated between horror at the sound and thin comfort at the proof that she was, at least, still breathing.

Cosima flailed as she began to cough and then to choke, tugging on their linked hands. Delphine released Cosima's fingers and pushed herself up – her back and knees protesting how long she'd sat in the one position – to get an arm under Cosima's shoulders. Reaching for a kidney dish with her free hand, she managed to get Cosima half-sitting and rolled onto one side enough that she no longer choked on her own mucus. She held the kidney dish under Cosima's mouth as coughing turned to retching and suppressed with vicious force the memory of Jennifer Fitzsimmons in the same condition.

Delphine's arm was the only thing holding Cosima in position and she didn't have a hand free to soothe her, to rub her back, so instead she pressed her face into the side of Cosima's head, and murmured gentle half-French nonsense into her ear until finally the spasms subsided.

Delphine eased her back down onto the cot and put the kidney dish aside to deal with later, trying not to see the blood spatter, bright against the white plastic. Not magic, she had to remind herself. Not magic.

When she turned back, she found Cosima awake, gazing up at her. Her eyes were glassy with fever, but less distant, less confused than they had been. Delphine tucked herself back against the edge of the cot and smiled down at her. "Hi." She squashed the urge to ask Cosima how she was feeling. She didn't think she could stand to hear the answer.

Cosima frowned, lifted one wavering hand and brushed it clumsily against Delphine's face. "Is this for me?"

The surgical mask, Delphine realized, belatedly. "Just a precaution."

Cosima managed to hook a finger under the top edge of it and tried to pull it down. Delphine reached up and caught Cosima's hand in both of her own.

"Cosima, no..."

"I want to see your face."

Delphine's breath hitched in her throat, her eyes stung with sudden tears. She was grateful in that moment for the mask as she fought the smile back onto her face. Finally, she freed one hand to pull the mask down around her neck. "Better?"

Cosima stared up at her with disconcerting intensity. "I thought I dreamed you," she said. Her face twisted, crumpled on the words, and Delphine's insides twisted with her.

Delphine wasn't sure Cosima had the strength to sit up, so she slipped back up onto the cot, stretched out alongside her. Cosima rolled into her, buried her tears in Delphine's shoulder, wound her arms around her. Delphine fought to hold onto her own composure at the feel of Cosima's hands – awake and aware and _Cosima_ – tangled in her shirt, looped around her back. She clung to Cosima with all the force of her fear, as though she could pin that awareness in place if she just held tightly enough. "I'm here," she promised. "It's me, I'm here." And for a brief moment, the sparrow calmed.

But the hitch of Cosima's breath caught on a cough and set her off again, and Delphine was forced to release her hold, slide off the bed. Cosima gripped her arm, for balance, for comfort, and Delphine gripped back. And by the time Cosima's spasm calmed and she rolled back onto the pillow her gaze was already growing hazy, her eyes drifting shut.

Delphine reached up to brush a caress across her cheek. "I gave you your... medicine this morning. You should start to get better soon." 

"Don't feel better," Cosima mumbled.

Delphine leaned in closer. "I know, _mon amour_. I'm sorry." She rested her forehead against Cosima's temple. "I'm here, just keep breathing." And because she couldn't help herself, " _Je t'aime._ "

"Mmm," Cosima hummed, already mostly asleep. "Me too."

** **

The coughing spasms came more frequently after that, as though that first fit had shaken something loose inside Cosima that was now clawing to get out. They were frequent enough, worrying enough, that Delphine forgot about the helicopter, about her deadline, until the Messenger reappeared at the door.

The knock came in the middle of another round of coughing, and again he let himself in without waiting for an invitation. Delphine was holding Cosima up, wrapped around her where she curled over the kidney dish, pressed against her back in comfort, when the Messenger stepped inside. Delphine looked up at him over her shoulder, realization dawning, and felt an animal fury spike through her. She tightened her grip on Cosima, refused to let go, to get up, heedless of what he would see, of what he might report.

"I'm not leaving."

There was no question, no room for argument. Her body sang with adrenaline, ready – eager, even – to get up and fight if he moved towards her. If they wanted her on that chopper, they would have to drag her out of this yurt bound, gagged, and unconscious.

He held his expression neutral as he gazed back at her. "There's a storm blowing in. The helicopter had to turn back."

Only then did Delphine notice the snow melting on his hood, on his shoulders. Only then did she register the howl of the wind outside, consumed as she had been with the rattle of Cosima's breathing beside her.

"They won't try again until morning at the earliest," he said.

Delphine nodded, acknowledgement not agreement, and the Messenger turned and let himself back out into the snow.


	5. Chapter 5

Cosima slept through most of the afternoon, between bouts of coughing. The spasms sounded more painful each time, her throat rasped raw by the continued abuse. Delphine put a pot of water on the stove to heat, and tried to coax Cosima to sip warm tea before she drifted off again after each bout. Mostly, though, it just gave Cosima something to retch back up the next time around.

Delphine gave up trying to get her to swallow anything more solid than the tea. She herself ate the oatmeal cold for lunch and added a nutrient bag to Cosima's IV line instead. Not ideal, but Cosima looked half-starved already, and her body needed fuel to heal itself.

Delphine was hesitant to leave the yurt when the dinner bell rang through the camp. She didn't want to leave Cosima, even for so short a time, and a part of her didn't trust the Neolutionists not to grab her, to trap her, the minute she stepped outside the yurt. But she needed water and firewood for the stove to get them through the night, and she should probably eat something.

When the door didn't swing open at her touch, she thought for a moment that they had locked her in. In was, at least, preferable to out. She gave the door an experimental shove and only then realized it was drifted snow holding the door closed. She forced it open just wide enough to squeeze through, then kicked the mounded snow clear of the entrance.

A good fifteen centimetres had fallen already, drifting against tree trunks and tents, weighing down the branches of the pine trees. Once Delphine cleared the lee of the yurt, the wind drove snow into her face in stinging gusts, and even in the darkness she could barely make out the campfire through the blowing white. Delphine pulled her hood low over her face, for protection and for anonymity, and hoped to slip in and out of the communal area unnoticed.

Someone, Mandy probably, had rigged a tarp to protect the campfire and dragged the tables holding the camp stoves under it as well. Mandy was handing out shovels to anyone who had finished eating, and they were clearing paths between the tents, the campfire, and out in the direction of the outhouse. Dieter had loops of rope over one shoulder and was stringing a line from each tent to one of the poles holding up the tarp.

Delphine skirted the activity and began to gather the supplies she needed, trying to keep the firelight off her face. She felt more than saw someone step up behind her, but she ignored the presence until it gripped her arm. She jerked free, ready again to fight for her freedom, but faltered when she caught sight of Mandy's serious expression.

"Have you got enough?" Mandy asked.

"I'm sorry?"

"The storm's gonna blow all night, and the temperature's dropping. That yurt is too big to warm with body heat alone. Can you carry any more?"

Delphine looked down at her armload. "I don't-"

"I'll send Dieter to you with another load when he's done. If you need anything, keep a hand on the rope to find your way back here or you'll get lost in the blizzard. No one wants to go out looking for you in this, and it's unlikely we'd find you before you froze to death."

"Thank you, I-"

"No one dies of exposure in this camp on my watch." Mandy nodded and bustled away, shouting for Dieter.

Delphine took a breath, bracing for this new layer of fear, of responsibility, then rearranged the load in her arms to add another couple of logs to her pile and slogged back to the yurt through the snow.

Inside, she stacked the wood near the stove, then built the fire back up again. Even with the roaring blaze, though, she could feel the chill pushing in from the walls. She moved the water containers closer to the fire so they wouldn't freeze, and after a moment's consideration dragged the cot closer as well.

A quick search of the storage bins in the yurt yielded a towel and three spare sweaters. And Cosima's coat and toque, hanging near the stove, were mostly dry by now. Delphine peeled back the upper of the two blankets tucked around Cosima, laid the towel, the three sweaters, her coat and Cosima's on top of the lower blanket, then replaced the upper blanket to hopefully hold it all in place. She lifted Cosima's head and eased the toque on over her dreads.

The wind howled on outside, rattling the yurt's wooden frame and driving icy gusts through the cracks. Delphine took up her position by the side of the cot, but even with the stove at her back found herself shivering with cold and exhaustion. And so, once Dieter had come and gone with his load of firewood, she allowed herself to give into temptation.

Pulling her own toque down over her hair, she lifted the blankets and slid into bed beside Cosima. She rolled Cosima gently onto her side, to ease her breathing and to make some room on the narrow cot, then spooned in close behind her, tucking the blankets back down around them to keep the warmth in. Pressing a kiss into the nape of Cosima's neck, she felt the flutter of her fear ease just a little and tumbled into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who were wondering, a toque is a hat [...a chesterfield is a couch, and it is pronounced zed, not zee, zed! – ten points to anyone who gets the reference], usually knitted, close-fitting, and often with a pompom on top (although Cosima's doesn't have one).


	6. Chapter 6

Delphine awoke with the fuzzy uncertainty that something was wrong. She was too hot.

She squinted her eyes open. The howl of the wind filled the yurt with an almost physical presence, and the windows were still dark. Night. Storm. She shouldn't be hot.

She shifted against the weight beside her, forced her eyes open fully. And slammed into the wall of dread that had been lurking, waiting for her.

"Cosima?"

Even buried under the blankets, even pressed up against her, Cosima was shivering. Awful twisting shudders. Delphine was damp with sweat where their bodies touched, just from the heat radiating off Cosima, but Cosima's skin was paper dry.

"No," Delphine murmured. "No, no, no." She rolled out of bed, the icy air in the yurt shocking her the rest of the way to wakefulness. The fire had burned down while she was out. She tucked the lowest layer of blanket back around Cosima to keep the frigid draught off her, but yanked the upper layer back and stripped the pile of sweaters and coats from the bed. Cosima contracted down into an even smaller huddled mass, and her teeth began to chatter. Delphine gritted her teeth against an aching empathy and eased Cosima's toque off as well.

Delphine fumbled to light the hurricane lantern nearest the bed so she had some light to work with, then crossed to the stove. The fire was down to glowing embers and the pot of water was only lukewarm. Good enough. Delphine poured some into the empty tea mug and dropped two aspirin into it to dissolve, stirring with her finger to help the process along.

"Cosima." Her voice was firm, but her hand was gentle when she gave Cosima's shoulder a shake. "Cosima, wake up."

Cosima didn't stir, didn't respond, but Delphine kept on. Called her in that tone that every student in every class she'd ever TA'd had come to dread, the tone that left no room for argument.

And Cosima opened her eyes, though her gaze drifted, blank and unfocused.

Delphine eased her up halfway to sitting and tipped the liquid into her mouth in tiny swallows. Half of it dribbled down her chin, but some of it went in, swallowed with little mewling sounds of pain.

She lay Cosima back down on the cot, rolling her carefully onto the opposite side from the one she'd been sleeping on to allow the other lung a chance to expand unimpeded, and tucked the one blanket back around her. She wiped the spilled water from her face, smoothed her dreads out on the pillow.

_I think I'm dying._

Delphine couldn't get the words, the awful detached tone, out of her head. "No," she said again. "No, you're not. Don't you dare."

It took Delphine a moment to realize she herself was shivering now. She couldn't really feel the cold, but it was getting hard to use her hands. She fished her coat from the pile she had stripped from the bed and crossed to build up the fire in the stove. She checked the oxygen tank and the IV, and then stood staring down at Cosima in a rage of helplessness.

There was no one she could call. No emergency line, no medevac. No way for help to get to them through the storm even if she could call. She was the closest thing to a medical doctor on the island, and there was nothing she could do. She wanted a ventilator on standby, and a defibrillator, and a pharmacy full of antibiotics. And, while she was at it, a civilized indoor temperature and basic sanitary conditions.

Delphine sank to her knees beside the cot, laid a hand against Cosima's face. She wasn't even coughing anymore. Not like she had been. Just weak rasps, to clear enough of an airway for the next breath. Her breathing sounded thick, wet, even without the stethoscope, fast and shallow. Almost panting. Her lips were tinged with blue.

Delphine sucked in a breath, blew it out again to steady herself, then climbed to her feet and crossed to the oxygen tank. She increased the flow rate and swapped the nasal tube for a face mask, easing it on over Cosima's head and adjusting the fit. She gathered up the discarded sweaters and Cosima's coat, and folded them into a tall pile. Cosima would breathe a little easier if she were propped up.

But she couldn't make herself do it. Cosima hated sleeping sitting up. _It makes me feel like an invalid_. She hated the face mask, too. Delphine stared down at her, burning with fever, gasping for breath, and actually barked a harsh laugh at herself for thinking that mattered at a time like this.

But still. She couldn't do it. Too many betrayals. Too many times she had overridden Cosima's wishes. She couldn't do it to her now. Not if...  And she had sworn. Never again.

"Okay," she said. "Okay, I have an idea. Just hold on."

Delphine put the pile down, took hold of the frame of the cot, and dragged it around until the head butted up against one of the yurt's thick support posts. That done, she crossed to the stove and took the time to arrange the logs, to build the fire so it would continue to burn for hours. She filled a basin with hot water, she made a fresh cup of tea, she retrieved the towel she had discarded earlier, and arranged it all within easy reach of the cot.

Finally ready, she slid an arm under Cosima's shoulders and lifted her gently to sitting, then tucked her shoulder behind Cosima to hold her up while she arranged the pile of sweaters against the post and leaned Cosima's pillow on top of that for padding.

Delphine shifted again and eased in behind Cosima, her own back against the post and one leg to either side of Cosima's hips, then guided Cosima back to rest against her chest, her head tucked against Delphine's shoulder. Delphine looped her arms around Cosima, laid her cheek against her hair, cocooning her, cradling her.

"There, see? I've got you. All you have to do is keep breathing."

She could feel the shallow rise and fall of Cosima's breaths against her own ribs, feel the hot puffs of air against her collarbone. Her breathing seemed to have slowed since her shift in position, and Delphine worried that wasn't a good sign. She thought for a moment about getting up to retrieve the stethoscope, which she had forgotten to set beside the bed, but she couldn't bring herself to leave Cosima. This time, she couldn't force her arms to let go.

Didn't dare let go. She could feel Cosima retreating ahead of her, down and down into those caves under the earth. Back down to the mother serpent. Delphine knew. She knew. But she refused to stop chasing after her. Couldn't stop. She didn't know how.

But she finally understood that it wasn't the stethoscope, or the IV, or the oxygen tank that would reach her.

"Please, my love, _mon amour_ , just one more breath. Just one more." Delphine tied her voice like a lifeline between them. "I know it hurts, I know you're tired, but we're so close. You're _cured_ , Cosima. Can you hear me? Your body is trying to heal itself, you just have to keep breathing."

Delphine curled her arms a little tighter, began to rock them both gently to the howling rhythms of the wind. "I'm here with you. Can you feel me? I'm holding you. And this time I won't let go." She closed her eyes, turned her face into Cosima's hair, but there was no hiding now. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, that I backed away from you. I thought I was keeping you safe. But it doesn't matter. If we're not together, it doesn't matter. I learned. I'm just sorry that it took me so long."

The world beyond the cot faded, narrowed. Contracted down until there was nothing left but the two of them. No night, no day, no light. Only darkness and the endless howling of the storm. Time stretched and thinned and vanished, and the only measure that mattered was Cosima's next breath, and the one after that, and the one after that.

"I can't live without you, Cosima. I can't. Please don't make me live without you. I know... I know how much I'm asking, but please, it's just one more breath. Just one at a time. And I won't let go, I promise. I promise."

Delphine whispered on and on. All the truths she'd ever wanted to share. All the things she'd been too afraid to say. Reaching after Cosima and offering her a way back out of the dark and the storm. And in her arms, Cosima's body burned and burned, a shooting star suspended, trembling, in the instant before winking out.

** **

Delphine felt it, the moment it happened. Wrapped around Cosima as she was, she felt the shivering stop, felt the shift in temperature. The change ripped through Delphine like an electric shock. She unwound one arm from around Cosima, stiff and aching, and pressed a shaking hand to Cosima's forehead to confirm. The skin was cool, clammy with sweat. Her fever had broken.

The real world rushed back in around them. Time. Cold. Pain. Delphine shifted Cosima and edged out from her place behind her, inch by painful, aching inch, laying Cosima awkwardly on the pile of sweaters. She staggered to the stove, built the fire up again, then back to the bed. She got an arm under Cosima's shoulders, lifted her, was trying to work out how best to manoeuvre her own aching body back into position when Cosima began to cough. A real cough this time. The shift in position must have triggered it.

Delphine eased the face mask off, then twisted and snagged the empty kidney dish. She dropped to her knees and carefully supported Cosima forward to give her the best chance of clearing her lungs. The rough spasms still sounded like something was tearing inside her, still ended in retching. But when Delphine finally moved to set the dish aside, the colour of the mess inside it stopped her cold. Not the bright bloody red she expected but only streaked with pink.

Delphine set the dish down with a shaking hand, turned her attention back to Cosima. And found her awake. Her eyes were only half open, but she was present, aware, and her gaze found Delphine's. Cosima's mouth tugged up at the corner, half a grimace, half a smile. Delphine leaned forward, kissed lips that were no longer blue, and Cosima's eyes drifted shut as she sank back into sleep.

Delphine watched her chest rise and fall as she breathed, though she couldn't hear the rasp of it past the hammering of her heart in her ears. She pushed herself to her feet, ready to climb back in behind Cosima, but sank immediately back to the ground when her legs refused to hold her. The first sob took her by surprise, an awful, sudden clenching in her chest. The sparrow tearing its way out of its cage.

Delphine felt she herself might be dying in that moment. Everything inside her coming apart, washed away by the force of emotion set free all at once. Her weeping, harsh and raw, shook her almost as badly as Cosima's coughing. She curled forward, hid her face in Cosima's hip, knotted her hands in the bedspread, but there was no way of stopping it, no possibility of control. She had worked so hard, all these months, not to show her fear. Not to show Cosima that she ever doubted. To hide from herself just how scared she was. And now that the worst was past, now that hope was real, a year's worth of suppressed emotions forced their way out of her in a handful of violent minutes.

** **

Delphine lay curled half across the cot, panting and spent, when the fury finally passed. She felt hollow, uncertain how to find her balance without the flutter of fear in her chest. That fear had been the axis of her existence for so long.

Cosima's hand rested on her hair. Delphine couldn't remember when Cosima had laid it there, but she allowed herself to simply rest under it. It felt like a benediction. It felt like forgiveness.

After a long moment, she sucked in an unsteady breath and straightened, allowing Cosima's hand to fall away. She should take Cosima's vitals. She should update her chart. Try to work out what time it was. Maybe see if she could make it to Mandy's campfire to collect more wood. But she couldn't make herself move. It could all wait a little while longer. The storm still raged outside, the clouds and snow still thick enough she could barely tell day from night. She had no idea how long the storm had lasted already, no idea how long this stolen window of time might still last.

She prodded the fire one more time, laid the second blanket back over the bed, and then slid back onto the cot beside Cosima. She arranged the pillow against her shoulder so Cosima was both propped up a little and snugged against her. She clung to Cosima with arms that still wouldn't stop shaking and finally allowed herself to rest.

** **


End file.
